Faith the Vampire Slayer: Slayer, Slew, Slain I
by Niels van Eekelen
Summary: Faith autobiographizes. Find out what makes the 'rogue slayer' tick. First book of a trilogy. (COMPLETE)
1. Prologue

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**PART ONE**

  
Only the good die young, right? _Shit!_ I'm going to live _forever_.   
--_A Distant Soil_ #25, by Colleen Doran 

--"Slaying's what we were built for, B--if you're not enjoying it, you're doing something wrong."   
--_Bad Girls_   
  


* * *

  
  


**PROLOGUE**

  
  


I guess this is where I am supposed to tell you about my childhood. At least, that's how it is in all the movies. Probably in the books, too, but I wouldn't know that. I'm not exactly much of a reader. 

So, I'm supposed to talk about my childhood. Well, here's an idea about that: screw you. No way I'm gonna waste my time on that psych crap. I mean, it was all pretty repetitive, anyway. I did something, tried to have some fun usually, then my father let me know how much he appreciated that I'd reminded him I existed outside the limited use he had for me. Not. Then nothing happened for a while, until it all started over again. How's that for a 24/7? 

Oh, and of course we shouldn't forget those exciting times when my mother managed to drag herself away from the TV-set. That was always a big event. Something to look forward to each month. Well, all right, maybe each year is closer. 

OK, this is _so_ everything you need to here about my childhood, got it? Personally, I don't even get why you'd _want_ to know. 

I mean, I'm Faith, the bad-ass vampire butt-kicker. I'm a Slayer. Life for us chosen ones doesn't really start until we're sixteenish, seventeenish, when the power kicks in. 

Now, how _that_ happened to me, that's actually a pretty cool story--I accidentally put my dad in the hospital. But we'll get to that. I talk about this, tell you the tall tale that's my life. You just sit back all comfy and make sure the nachos and the beer are within reach. I'd recommend tissues, too, but if you're the wimpy type, just get the fuck out. You wouldn't even get what my life's about.   
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


	2. Chapter One: Chosen

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**CHAPTER ONE: CHOSEN**

  
  


The first time my Slayer strength manifested itself was a hoot. I don't think I've ever enjoyed using it that much since, simply because it came so unexpectedly. It was... three months, I guess, give or take a week, after I dropped out of high school, and I had been pissed off at the world ever since. Pissed off meaning more pissed off than I normally am. 

It had cost me a shitload of effort to get into high school, everything from faking my father's signature to getting together the money. In the end, I even got some kind of official-looking person to tell my parents that it was my right to be educated. 

Bet that's a shocker, huh? Me, Faith the slacker, fighting to go to class. That was back when I still cared. I thought high schools had to be pretty cool places, considering how many kids went there, and even kept studying in college, when they didn't really had to anymore. God, how naive that sounds now. But I honestly wanted to learn, and meet people-- maybe even get a boyfriend. The people in our own neighbourhood weren't exactly people you hung out with. Not a matter of self-respect, rather of self-preservation. 

Anyways, I got myself into high school, and it was hell. Nobody wanted to be friends with me, although they all found me hilariously funny, especially the fact that I lived in a trailer and that my dad was an ex-con. He'd done time when I was a toddler because he'd robbed a liquor store and had stuck around to try and rape the shop assistant instead of running before the police arrived. Needless to say, I hated everyone at school, and got into a lot of fights. If nothing else, fighting was a welcome distraction from my failing grades. That were my fellow students. The teachers all treated me pretty much like Commandant Snyder did Sunnydale High. Only not as friendly. So I dropped out, and never regretted it. 

After all the effort I'd put into going to high school only to have it amount to nothing, I was running on a short fuse. In other words, I went looking for trouble, and then gave it an inferiority complex. That afternoon we were talking about, the one with the Slayer strength, I'd been brought home by the cops. It was just a little vandalism that got me caught, but it was enough to send my father over the edge. 

I fought back, I always did, but usually it was just for having tried, with my dad being a heavyweight, and me no more than a featherweight. 

This time was different. It's not just strength that lets a Slayer kick butt, too. Suddenly I knew _where_ to hit him. And I hit him. Knocked him across the room. My mom's all panicky, screaming at me, and jumping out of her chair more energetically than she had in at least ten years. 

Come to think of it, I don't know how mom got the ambulance to come. Our phone was dead, because we never paid any bills. Anyhow, she got one, and we went to the hospital with dear ol' dad. I remember thinking we were in deep shit when we got the hospital bill, 'cause there was no way we could pay it. I wasn't worried about my dad's payback to _me_. I was still too full of the idea that now I could take care of myself. I didn't wonder how or why. 

That's when Maria found me. Maria, I don't know if you remember, or if you ever even heard her name, but she was my first Watcher, the one Kakistos... killed. You should remember her. Someone should. 

I was standing in the hallway outside of my dad's room, leaning my forehead against the window and staring at some faraway place I wished I could be, when this strange woman in a way too expensive suit comes up to me. Screw her, I thought. I ignored her. 

"Jackson Mandorf," she started in her British accent, reading from a chart, "nose broken by impact from 'blunt object', they call it." Then she made that weird clucking noise with her tongue. It's a Watcher thing, I guess. "You nearly drove the cartilage of your father's nose into his brain, you know. Nearly killed him." 

For some reason, I smiled. I really didn't want to kill anyone--not yet, I guess--but the idea that it would be so easy seemed damn funny. "'d've Served the bastard right," I muttered. I hadn't thought Maria would hear me. I wasn't used to people listening to what I was saying, period. But when I looked up, I saw those two enormous blue eyes looking back at me, filled to the brim with compassion. 

Being who I am, I wasn't about to accept pity from someone who had no idea what my life was really like. 

"So who are you?" I demanded harshly. "Police? You take care of us juvenile delinquents?" She was a good one, my Watcher was. She saw that I would only respond to things I could understand, so she didn't waste any more time being mellow and all that crap. 

She simply shook her head. "No, the police won't be bothering you. I took the liberty of dealing with that. I understand that this was the first time your power manifested, so what happened because of it can't be blamed on you." She sighed. "No, I'd sooner blame myself. I should have found you before anything like this could happen, but for some reason I kept searching in the more well-to-do neighbourhoods." 

The woman had my complete attention now. And my suspicion. And, automatically, my anger. You want a psych explanation for what I've done? There it is. Anger. I'm full of it. Always have been. "Power? Searching?" I wanted to know. "Who the heck _are_ you? Are you in one of those conspiracy things?" Yes, I watch the _X-files_, too. Doesn't everyone? I for one believe those two should have screwed each other long ago and got it over with. Mulder could have got her, if he'd just been smart enough to try anything. 

My Watcher gave me a look that said they didn't _have_ conspiracy things in England. "My apologies," she replied calmly, "I forget to introduce myself. I am Maria Bandera." She extended a hand towards me. I glanced at it, then ignored it. After a moment, Maria dropped the hand and went on. "Believe me when I say that the organisation I'm with has nothing to do at all with your American government. We are called the Watcher Council." 

The name didn't ring any bells, naturally, so I figured, no reason to be impressed. 

"And you, Faith Mandorf, are the Chosen One. I've been looking for you for over two years." 

I didn't like the sound of that. No one searched for someone for two years if all they wanted was to say hi. "Chosen for what? Or by whom?" 

She chuckled. "I have a feeling that you wouldn't believe me if I simply told you. Please, come with me, and I'll show you." 

I sneered at her. "If you actually believe," I replied, "that I'm gonna come with you, just like that, then someone did a real number on that pretty head of yours." 

"You owe me," she argued. "I got the police to not pursue your case." 

I scoffed at her. "The police and I are practically roommates, we see each other so often," though I was probably very lucky I didn't have to deal with them. 

"Then, Faith my dear," Maria told me with that amused smile I would learn to love so much, "you will come with me, because you have nothing better to do. Not at the moment, and not with your life." 

Boy, did she have me there.   
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


	3. Chapter Two: Slayer

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**CHAPTER TWO: SLAYER**

  
  


That night shortly after sunset, when we were sitting in the cemetery, watching a fresh grave, I decided that I had spent the past few hours in the presence, actually _listening to_, a total and complete freaking nutcase. 

"This is a load of BS," I said, getting up. I tossed aside the pointed wooden stick Maria had given me. To tell you the truth, I felt rather disappointed in the woman. I liked her, somehow, and now she turned out to be this lying weirdo. 

Of course, I shouldn't have said that bit about the BS. 

A hand suddenly reached up out of the earth of the fresh grave, and I barely had time to say, "What the fuck?" before the late, not so great, Donny Altman jumped on top of me. "Get the hell off of me!" I screamed. OK, so I panicked. At least I packed the punches to back up my frantic demand. I flung Donny-boy through the air, and he landed--very painfully, it looked like--with his back on a tombstone. He fell to the ground. Then he got up again. "What the f--" I didn't get to the witty repartee part until later. So sue me. I doubt many Slayers did much better with their first vamp. Frantically, I searched around for some kind of--_any_ kind of--weapon. 

"Faith!" Maria called. She'd found the stake I'd thought that I wouldn't need, and threw it at me. "Into the heart!" 

I caught the stake just as the vamp reached me again. With a skill I hadn't known I possessed, I rolled backwards, thrusting the stake up into the dead body and kicking out my legs to flip him off of me in one fluid movement. Only, as soon as I staked the vamp, there was no more weight to throw off of me, and I lost my balance. When I gasped, I breathed in half the dustcloud the vamp had left behind. 

Pretty soon, I would become addicted to the adrenalin, the rush of facing death and kicking it back into the hell it came from. That first time, I was just freaked. I didn't even object when Maria helped me back to my feet. I just stood there, slightly wide-eyed, coughing. "What the fuck was that?" I asked. 

"That," Maria replied, "was a vampire. And you have to admit I was right when I thought you wouldn't believe me if I just told you." That was my Watcher. Always right, and always eager to say 'I told you so.' 

"Hell yes," I agreed wholeheartedly. Without speaking, we agreed that the the graveyard was hardly the place for the necessary explanations, so Maria drove us to her hotel in her car. She had this totally awesome car, a night-black convertible. The ride gave me some time to process things, too, and I had managed to accept the fact that vampires existed by the time we entered her room. 

"What exactly is it I'm chosen for?" I wondered. While Maria closed the door and prepared herself for the infamous speech, I took in the hotel room. I decided that this 'Watcher Council' was a gig I could get into. It wasn't the Hilton, but at the time that room seemed almost extravagantly luxurious for a place people just passed through, with a TV and everything--even one of those bars with booze in'em. 

"Into each generation, a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One, one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread of their evil, and to guard the world from the creatures of the night. She is you." 

I reckon my response to the greatest revelation in my life was pretty standard Slayer issue. "Right," I said. But I had already discovered that vampires were real, so I couldn't just dismiss this idea because it was crazy. Didn't mean I was exactly eager to accept such a duty. "Destiny, huh? I don't really believe in all that fate crap." 

Maria just smiled. "You don't, do you? I must admit I wasn't too accepting of _that_ particular reality either, in the beginning, but I discovered that it doesn't really matter in the end, whether what you do was determined in advance or not. You still have to make the same decisions to make it happen. Tell me, do you at least agree that you must have got those new powers for a reason--no, let me rephrase that--that something must have given them to you?" 

I mulled that over. "I guess," I said. Maria must have noticed me eyeing the door, so she made sure I sat down before I could bolt. 

"You could decide that you weren't chosen for anything," she continued. "Not be the Chosen One. Be no one." I gave her a _really_dirty look at those words, because they stung, but I didn't phase Maria. I rarely ever could. She was always one step ahead of me. "It won't stop the vampires from killing. They are always lying in wait, and when they find out the Slayer decided she wasn't the Slayer, they'll rise, and the killing will increase. If they aren't stopped, their numbers will grow and no one will be safe. Chosen or not, Faith, dear, you are the one with the power to stop them. There's nobody else." That turned out to be not entirely true, but I don't blame Maria for that little white lie. I know I've told _my_ share of those. 

"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked. "Sit on graveyards all night and stake whoever comes out?" 

Maria chuckled merrily. It was probably then that she knew she had convinced me. "There's a bit more to it then that. Take this path, and I doubt there'll be a dull day in your life." She shrugged. "Or rather, a dull night." She got up and walked over to the bar. "I could use a drink," she said. 

"Me, too," I agreed. 

"You're under age," Maria disagreed. 

"So?" I asked. I was honestly surprised that something like that mattered to Maria, considering the wackiness of her world. 

She looked at me and sighed. "I suppose that you _did_ have quite a shocker today." 

We talked for hours that night. Maria explained what the deal with the Watcher Council was. I asked her ears of about all the things in vampire movies, and whether they were true. For some reason, I was terribly disappointed when Maria told me Dracula was just a fairy tale. Maria even 'fessed up about my life expectancy, but I'd never given growing old much thought, so I could deal with it. 

Around one o'clock, Maria decided it was time to take me home. I was _very_ comfy, and exhausted after my long day, so I didn't want to get up. "If it's all the same to you, I can sleep right here on the couch," I suggested. 

"But... what about your parents? Won't they worry?" This from the woman who had already slyly suggested that it would be best if I got away from my parents. She had no quarrel with doing what she had to as a Watcher, but she did care. 

I snorted. "Right. As if they'll even notice I'm gone. Mom's probably staying with my dad in the hospital, anyway. It was nice and comfortable there." 

Maria was smart enough not to argue any further. "I can borrow you a nightgown, but I doubt it'll fit," she offered. 

"I'm fine," I said, but I liked that she'd thought to offer. 

So that was the first night I spent at my Watcher's place. It would become a habit. I just kicked off my shoes, fell asleep, and dreamt of grand adventures.   
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


	4. Chapter Three: Training

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**CHAPTER THREE: TRAINING**

  
  


The next day my dad was released from the hospital. I went home as well. Fortunately, mom was so busy fussing over dad--apparently the doctors had said some pretty scary things back at the hospital--that they hardly noticed I was there, so the inevitable confrontation was postponed until early evening. 

I knew exactly what was gonna happen way in advance, but that didn't help any. Daddy dearest had recovered his strength, no matter how silly he looked with that cast on his nose, and he wasn't about to let me get away with standing up to him succesfully. 

I could have taken him out. One blow to the right place, and the bastard wouldn't have bothered me anymore. But Maria's talk about resposibility the night before had scared me, more than I wanted to admit. So I did nothing. I took what dad dealt out. Oh, I dodged and paried some, but defensive fighting, at best, only gains you a little time. Besides, it made him angry. 

I was afraid to fight back, OK, but there came a point, when I lay on the floor, hurting everywhere, that I knew that if dad had any intention of stopping when I'd learnt my lesson, he would already have stopped by then. I decided not to take any more of his crap. So I rolled aside, jumped to my feet, and bruised my knuckles on his thick skull. 

He dropped to the ground, unconscious. I pretty much followed him down and just sat there, gasping for breath. If not for my Slayer- toughness, it would have been me who was unconscious. I wonder if that would have stopped my dad's rampage. He was crazy enough not to have noticed if I'd passed out. 

My mother leapt to dad's side again, moaning and screaming for him to wake up. I hated her then. Completely and thoroughly. For being able to care about that man, and not interfering when he was beating me up, or even bothering to see if I was all right. 

We were all still in the same positions when Maria rang the doorbell, what must have been ten minutes later. My mom showed no intention of getting up, so I got off the floor, straightened my clothes and went to open the door. 

Maria was trying to look in through the window when I opened the door, looking worried at the sound of my mother's moaning. When she saw my bruised appearance, she was aghast. 

"Let's go," I told Maria quickly, before she could start asking questions. 

She didn't ask any questions about what had happened all night during our training session and hunt. Not directly, at least. Still, I guess that she managed to piece things together, because the next day, she came early, dressed again in that way too expensive-looking suit. She told me to wait outside and went in to speak to my parents. 

She never told me exactly what she said to them, though I heard something about taking me to a correctional facility or something. The walls of our trailer were kinda unsoundproof, and I knew where the cracks were. I didn't hold it against Maria, what she told my parents, not much, anyways. Lies are a lot more credible if it's half-probable they're actually gonna happen anyway. 

The results, in any case, I couldn't argue with. I packed some stuff, stopped to glare at mom and dad for a moment, and then never looked back. 

I stayed in Maria's hotel room for the rest of the time we stayed in town. "It'll have to do until we find you an affordable place of your own," Maria said. I can't say I looked very hard, and I don't think she did, either. I grew quite fond of that couch, actually. 

We stayed there for three and a half weeks or so. During the night, I patrolled, sometimes alone, sometimes with Maria. During the day, we trained, and I learned to kick some serious butt. I remember one time. I was daydreaming about what would happen if I revisited St George High School. There was a lot of revenge to be got there. 

"Pay attention, Faith," Maria chided me. 

"Attention?" I countered. "Hah! I could take you on in my sleep!" I lashed out again and again at the pads she wore on her hands. I enjoyed the violence, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Slaying helped me take out a whole lot of what I used to crop up inside on the undead. 

Finally, I tackled her and landed with a stake poised directly over her heart. I leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Tag, you're it." 

"Not bad, Faith, dear," Maria said getting up. "But next time, _do_ try to stick to the lesson plan." She always did her best to sound stern, but she couldn't hold back the curve of her lips as she gave me the smile that told me she was proud of me. 

Because she was. She was my Watcher, I was her Slayer, and I hadn't yet encountered a vamp that gave me any trouble. In no time at all, Maria became far closer to me than anyone of my own flesh and blood had ever been. 

I mean, it didn't just stop when the monsters stopped coming. We hung out together. OK, so it's not very Watchery behaviour, but Maria had, like, two personalities. One was the British one. Kinda Gilesy, but never actually Wesleyish. Meaning that she had the stiffness when it came to repremanding me, but she had emotions, too, and dared to show them. 

Maria often took me to this club, where people of both our ages came. I met some people there who became my friends. Or at least, I hung with them when Maria wasn't around. After a while, I took to coming there late at night, after patrolling. They weren't too strict about who they served alcohol there. I can't remember the number of times Maria cursed me when she'd lain awake all night worrying that something had happened to me on patrol, while I was just hanging out at the club. 

Guess I wasn't very considerate. 

But Maria, she took it all in stride. Yes, she yelled at me for it to get the excitement out of her system, but then she'd just shrug it off and call it puberty. 

Eventually, I even found that boyfriend I'd had wanted in high school, in the form of Kenny. I acted all tough around him, like I usually actually am, but I'm ashamed to say that I fell head over heels for this guy. It was... nice. For a while. He was very helpful with the... feelings... I often got after slaying all night. Except for the part where I got hungry, he was a disaster in that department. There was never anything to eat at his place. 

Oh, wait, I get what you're thinking now, but no, he wasn't a vampire. Fucking worse, if you ask me. 

Considering how I feel about guys these days, you must have guessed that it didn't end well. Maria and I decided to call off patrolling early one night. The night before, I'd found the local vamps' nest, and that day we'd gone back to open some windows, let in fresh air, and a little light, if you get my meaning. So it would be quiet for a while. When I dropped by Kenny's place, I found him in bed with another girl. 

I swear, it was pure luck--though I certainly didn't think so at the time--that Maria was still right outside in her car, after she'd dropped me off, or I would have killed the stinking bastard. Maria had to tear me off him to stop me from strangling him. He was already turned blue. I remember that that bitch he was with just kept screaming. Drove me crazy. 

But enough about that. I'm skipping over all sorts of things. This all was just before the Watcher's Council decided to make full use of a Slayer who wasn't tied to one place by relatives, and they started sending the two of us around. 

Before Sunnydale, there were three bigshot vampires in my life. There was Andrea, some moron calling himself Mordred, and of course... of course there were Kakistos and his lapdog Mr Trick. But they came later. 

First up, still in Boston, was Andrea.   
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


	5. Chapter Four: Andrea

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**CHAPTER FOUR: ANDREA**

  
  


I first ran into Andrea--naturally--the first time Maria had left me alone for the weekend to go to a Watchers' meeting in the Old World, so I had no one to find out who I was up against. 

That night, I was on graveyard duty. A guy called Isaiah Clark had turned up dead with a tear in his throat and, what puzzled the so-called authorities to no end, blood on his lips and in his mouth and throat. I always wondered what it must be like for a fresh vamp if they perform an autopsy on him before burying him. I like to think that it hurts a whole lot. 

Isaiah was scheduled to rise again that night, but he didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. I was bored to tears. The sticks I had brought to sharpen into stakes were sharper than my knife after cutting them, the batteries of my diskman had run out, and I knew that if I was going to be busy much longer, the others would have gone home before I got to the club. 

When the fledgeling vamp finally crawled out of his grave, I knew he'd ruined my night. He was gonna pay for that, sure as Hell is hot. Driven purely by instinct, as newborn vamps always are, Isaiah came at me, growling for all he was worth. Instead of staking him through the heart, I slashed my stake along his arm, almost hard enough to take it off. 

He turned around and came at me again. "Gimme all you got, Fang Boy," I taunted him. "It's payback time!" This time, I cut open his face from cheek to cheek, crushing his nose. He looked like he had been a handsome guy, before he grew fangs and all. He wasn't anymore then. 

Suddenly, I heard someone scream loudly behind me. "Nooo!" I spun around quickly, thinking that maybe something had crawled out of another fresh grave and was attacking someone. I didn't think there were anymore undead births scheduled for that night, but, though I took the sacred duty stuff pretty seriously, researching the coroner's latest finds just seemed a whole lot of work, which I wasn't all that good at, so I wasn't sure. 

Instead, what I got was my first look at Andrea. She looked like a normal, living human--she had a kinda self-hatred thing going, where she thought her vamped out face was unbearably ugly--but she shot at me with absolutely inhuman speed. I've never encountered another vampire who was as fast as Andrea was. 

Before I noticed what was going on, she'd slammed me onto the ground and held me there, glaring furiously. "He was the prettiest male I've found in over five decades," she told me. 

"Don't worry, I grunted, "I'll take your eyes out, so you won't have to look at him." 

Andrea raised one hand to slash at me with her long nails, but that slight release was all I needed to flip her off me and jump to my feet. We fought for a while, which, with her superhuman speed, pretty much amounted to me getting the crap kicked out of me. Still, I managed to hold my own until I got an opening. I threw all my weight against her, and got a hold of her arm. Thinking that I only needed to keep Andrea in one place long enough to be able to kick her ass, I pinned her hand to a tree with my stake. 

She screamed ferally and tossed me aside. When I got back to my feet, She had somehow pulled herself loose and was running off, cradling her injured hand to her chest. "You haven't seen the last of me, Slayer!" she called at me. 

Annoyed that she had escaped, and that Isaiah had apparently run off while we were fighting, I called some insults after her, but my heart wasn't really in it. I just wanted to get away. 

I _wanted_ to go see if Kenny was still up, but I knew that I had trouble enough explaning my various scraped and bruises away on a normal night, and Andrea had given me areally good pummelling. So I just went home. Once there, I pretty much emptied the fridge, and then slept straight through to the following afternoon. 

I woke up at the ringing of the phone. It was Maria, calling from England to hear how things were. I gave her an extremely sketchy report of what'd happened the night before, leaving out some stuff because I didn't want her to worry. Besides, I didn't really think there was anything to worry about. 

I was still a bit sleepy--that's part of the Slayer healing process. Wounds are gone in no time, but you have to pay for it in energy. Fortunately, energy is something I usually have an abundance of. 

After Maria's call, I shook off the sleep and spent the day as usual. Which meant, hanging around most of the time and practicing a bit when I felt like it. I went to the supermarket to restock the fridge--I remember wondering at how much money Maria had left me for those few days. Turned out later half was for possible emergencies. And she didn't consider my growling stomach an emergency. 

When I went out for patrol that night, I had all but forgotten about Andrea. She sure hadn't forgotten about me. 

I was touring the most likely places for vamps to hang out when I was suddenly attacked. At first I was glad to get the work-out, but that passed over pretty quickly. 

They were all pretty stupid, fresh from the grave. Probably some master vampire was trying to gather minions and build a power base quickly. That kind of minions are the easiest vamps to take care of. But they just kept coming. I took at least half a dozen out before the overpowered me. As I went down beneath that tangle of punching arms and kicking legs, I panicked. I heard Maria's voice from that time in the beginning. 

_"Being a Slayer isn't exactly the safest job in the world,"_ she'd said. _"Slayers, as an historical fact, die young. Few Slayers have ever lived to be twenty years old. I can't promise that it will be any different for you. We live in particularly dangerous times, now. What I _can_ promise you, is that we'll stand together and face whatever the night throws at us. Together, we'll be strong."_

I can't begin to explain how much that idea that I wasn't alone comforted me. I mean, I may have been pretty used to taking care of myself, but despite what I wanted to believe, this vampire and saving-the-world stuff was way out of my league, especially at the beginning. 

I realised then and there that I was, after all was said and done, alone. 

Maria, she meant what she had said, but I knew that she couldn't always be there for me. And I had the evidence to prove it happening to me right at that moment. Even aside from all that, it was a simple fact that I was the Slayer, and Maria was not. 

Somehow, I managed to stay conscious while the vamps dragged me away, though I was too dazed to twitch a finger. The whole situation gave me the wiggins. OK, so being captured by vampires would be fairly high on anyone's freakometre, but I'm talking about the part where they took me with them, instead of ripping my head off, or draining me or something. That, I couldn't understand. 

Guess I'm not so bright after all. By now, I should have recalled Andrea's promise. Then again, it wouldn't have made much of a difference, now would it? 

When my head cleared, I was in the largest subterranean hall I'd ever seen. You think Sunnydale has a lot of sewers and tunnels and what not underground, but Nowhereville isn't the only place that has those, and apparently the bigger city wants the bigger tunnels. It's tunnel-envy. 

There were about a billion candles there lighting the hall brighter than I would have thought vamps would want, and several huge portrait paintings hung on the walls, all depicting Andrea. 

The minions tied me to a bunch of drainage pipes that came up out of the floor near one wall, and then they opened up a path to let their leader through. I counted at least nine minion vamps left after our big fight, and cursed the fact that I hadn't even known so many bodies had gone missing. I hated the guilt I felt at not being able to save them. But the guilt was only gonna get worse. Andrea had killed all these people, just so that she could get at _me_. 

She finally showed herself to me then. Came up to me and lifted my chin in that annoying way the baddies have when their enemies are tied up, so I had no choice but to look her in the face. 

"You're not so pretty now, are you, girl?" she taunted me, prodding painfully at my black and blue face. 

"Don't you worry your ugly little head over that," I spat back. "I'll heal." 

I did not at all like the smile that formed on her face then. "Oh, you would, no doubt, if you got the chance. Which you won't, by the way." 

She gestured at one of the vamps, one of the type I tend to refer to as Big Bruiser, and he stepped forward eagerly. Big Bruiser grinned and vamped out--unfortunately for him, that's how I found out about Andrea's very own weirdness. 

Maria explained it to me in more detail later, when we'd figured out who Andrea'd been. She was a hundred, a hundred and ten years old, and she abhorred ugliness. The sicko even _let_ herself get turned into a vampire, 'cause she couldn't stand the thought of growing all old and wrinkly, and she spent her days--sorry, nights--as a vampire searching for a man who was her equal in beauty. I know beauty's in the eye of the beholder and all that crap, but I honestly don't think that should have cost her ninety years. 

Big Bruiser had dared to remind Andrea of the uglier side of the whole vampire-thing, and she smacked him hard for it. Like most vampires, she was stronger than she looked. Unfortunately, it didn't take Big Bruiser long to recover, nor to realise his mistake. He didn't look very happy about yielding to Andrea, but I guess she had made damn sure the Sire-Childe relationship was plenty strong. Big Bruiser took his frustration out on me. 

It was one of the less memorable experiences of my life. The guy was muscular even without the added vampire strength. I had to bite my lip until it bled three colours of blood to keep from crying out. But I didn't. Cry out, I mean. Instead, after a while, I used a weakness all vampires suffer from to gain some time. 

I pretended to have lost consciousness. I haven't met a vamp who wouldn't like to think he could put any human to sleep with one fist. 

Andrea, Big Bruiser and the rest moved some distance off, and I could vaguely hear them talk. I used what little time I had to take some deep breaths, and to test my bonds. The rope was pretty strong, and I didn't think that I could break it, but the pipes were old. There were three pipes in all. Two smaller ones, to which my arms were tied, and one really big one in between. They had squeaked horribly when I had bounced against them, and a tiny stream of disgusting-smelling water had started dripping on my head. I waited. 

One of Andrea's goons noticed that I was awake 'again', and they came back. About half of the minions were gone, probably hunting for food while it was still dark. Since Andrea had turned them to get to me, I knew I was indirectly responsible for every death they caused. But there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it then, was there? 

Andrea came to make some more conversation before letting Big Bruiser at me again. Big Bruiser, I noticed, was now armed with a wicked-looking knife. It was quite a beautiful thing, actually, but I wasn't in a position to fully appreciate that at the time. I knew that the vamps would expect what little resistance I could muster in response to Andrea's taunts, so I surprised them by attacking before she'd even had the chance to open her mouth. I jumped forward, pulling at the ropes and the pipes with all my strength. 

What I _expected_ to get out of it was a choice between an extremely small chance of escape and a chance to scar Andrea, maybe for the rest of her unlife. If you want to know, I hadn't been able to make that choice yet. 

What I _got_ was completely unexpected. The pipes burst just as I'd hoped, but they spouted out a deluge of sewage. I collided with Andrea's body, but we were washed apart almost immediately. Breaking free had taken most of my strength, and it was a struggle to get my head abovewater often enough to breathe. 

After what seemed like hours, but what probaly were only seconds, the flow of sewage tuned down to a slow trickle. The hall had been plunged into near-darkness, because the bulk of the candles had been flushed away. I ended up on the other end of the hall, and though I hurt pretty much everywhere, I got to my hands and knees and made my way away from the vamps through one of the smaller tunnels ending in the hall. 

I could hear Andrea shrieking loudly behind me, and for a moment I thought that she was right behind me, but the bitch was probably just screeching because I had messed up her make-up and her clothes. After a few minutes, I entered a part of the sewers that was still actively used--by the living, that is. I was moving slowly and could barely keep my head above the sewage. I didn't think I would be able to make it upstairs to the world before someone undead found me. 

So, in what was probably one of my more stupid, though, in the end, very satisfying moves, I turned back in the general direction of the underground hall. I was determined that if I was going down and out, I would do it someplace where I'd cause a whole bunch of destruction. 

It was all just an idea in a head that wasn't all that clear, though. When a side tunnel offered me a dry route, I suddenly cared considerably less about where I ended up. It was little more than coincidence that I ended up on a flight of stairs that brought me straight above the hall where the vamps had originally brought me. The floor, or ceiling, or whatever you wanna call it, wasn't very solid. It was a wooden floor--or ceiling, there we go again--and when I peered through a crack when I heard voices, I could see Andrea and her lapdogs some dozen feet below. 

The goons were just reporting in, and Andrea was pretty pissed off because they hadn't found me yet. 

But it wasn't like things were going my way all of a sudden. I got dizzy for a moment, and I flailed my arms around searching for something to hold on to, and knocked over some pipes leaning against the wall. 

My downstairs neighbours had damn sensitive ears. They all looked straight up. 

"She's upstairs!" Andrea screeched. "Go get her, you fools!" The minions rushed out to the stairs. They would be with me in just a minute. There was no place to hide. There was no way I could outrun them. So I did the only thing I could. I prepared to defend myself. I punched through the floor, ripped part of one board loose to use as a weapon, and got back up. 

For once in their unlives, the vamps didn't underestimate me. The first ones waited at the top of the stairs for the rest to catch up with them, even though they must have noticed that I could barely keep my feet under me as I held my makeshift stake out between us. Probably thought that as a Slayer, I might still take out one or two of them, and they weren't eager to be that lucky vampire. 

I've always had my doubts about that idea that patience is supposed to be a virtue, and that day, because it must have been day by then, I was proven right. The vamps all moved forward simultaneously, and the floor creaked beneath us. Remember I said that the floor was anything but solid? Big understatement. I couldn't resist kicking down hard right on a supporting beam. 

Boom. 

To this very day, I have no _idea_ what came down with us when we all fell, but it was a lot more than just that rickety wooden floor. It was the wood that did the trick, though. Two were impaled and turned to dust. Most of the other vamps were injured by the shower of splinters, if not by the fall itself. When they saw me get up, re-energised for a brief moment by the enormous adrenalin rush and still holding on to my stake, they wisely fled. Even a Sire-Childe bond only goes so far. 

When I thought I was alone, the adrenalin no longer supported me, and I felt as shitty again as I had before. There was no hurry in getting out of the tunnels, my muddled brain decided. I could stay and rest for a while. 

Then I noticed the moaning sounds. I looked around, and I saw that I wasn't alone after all. Andrea had been standing right beneath us when I'd brought the ceiling down. She was pinned down beneath a large piece of concrete which had crushed her waist and hid her legs from sight. And yet, still, her face, her most beloved possession, was unmarked. After fighting me, being washed away by a few thousand gallons of sewage, and now this, her face still didn't even have a scratch on it. I started laughing and couldn't stop. Somehow, I found that enormously funny. 

Andrea looked at me really frightenedly. "You're going to kill me now, aren't you?" she asked in a little girl-voice. 

I didn't feel like replying to that, not even with a wisecrack. Instead, I made good on the promise I'd made her. I took her eyes out, one at a time. Dusting came shortly after, when Andrea's screaming went from a satisfying retribution to nerve-grating. 

Sometime later, a hand gently shook my shoulder, and I woke up. I was disoriented for a moment, before I recognised the hall, or what was left of it, around me, and Andrea's dusty remains nearby, and then realised that I must have lost consciousness. Then I noticed my Watcher crouching over me, looking worried. 

"Maria!" I called, and noticed that sitting up was not good. "You're back." 

She raised an eyebrow at me. "And I had to come looking for you almost straight from the airport," she replied. "Don't worry, I'll get you out of here, Faith dear. How are you feeling?" 

I shrugged best as possible. "I'm five by five, really." I just needed a moment... 

Maria sniffed disdainfully. "Of course," she said, obviously not believing me, "I should have guessed. Can you tell me if there are any of our nocturnal friends left around here?" 

"Those who got out in one piece are probably still running," I told her. I began to drift off again--I was really sleepy--but a question popped up in my mind and refused to wait. "Maria, how did you find me?" I asked her. 

She just smiled. "Why, I followed the path of destruction, naturally. It led me straight to you." 

Maria's arrival right then did a lot to lift the despair that had been clinging to me ever since I'd been captured by the vamps. I might have been alone, and sometimes I'd have to fight that way, but in Maria I had the closest thing to a fellow fighter I could possibly get. 

Much to my chagrin, I never _did_ catch Isaiah, but he probably wasn't smart enough to stay out of the sun on his first morning out of the grave.   
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


	6. Chapter Five: Moving Around

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**CHAPTER FIVE: MOVING AROUND**

  
  


The next time I woke up I was in a hospital. I had bruised a couple of ribs and had suffered a slight concussion. Thank god I didn't have to stay there for long. I can't stand hospitals. Everything's so clean there, and orderly, it makes me feel like they're gonna decide how everything in the hospital is going to happen. It's kinda hard to explain exactly, but as you might know, I like being in control. 

Of course, everyone besides Maria and me was amazed at how quickly I healed, but we didn't give the doctors the time to study me for it. 

Not long after that came the mess with Kenny, which I am _not_ fucking gonna repeat again, and less than two days after that, we got a message from the Watchers' Council. They wanted the two of us to start travelling all across the country to mop up the various evils lurking about. I think Maria didn't really want to take me away from my hometown, but I didn't mind, especially right then--as long as the Council picked up the travelling bills. Our finances were running a bit tight. 

The first place we were sent to was New York, where they were suffering from a minor vamp infestation. Surprise, surprise, 'cause in the Big Apple they have an extensive set of sewer tunnels, too. Seems like you can always find trash and vamps in the same places. Birds of a feather, and all that. They were totally unprepared for anyone who actually fought back, and it took us only a few nights to root them out. 

The next three months of my life were like that. Maria and I went from one place to the next, usually not staying more than a few days before moving on. Not every place we went to was on direct assignment from the Watchers' Council, not by a long shot, but they did their best to keep us busy. 

Because we didn't have the time to make any other friends, Maria and I became even closer. I hung out and did stuff with guys from time to time, but I didn't have or take the time to make it serious--and they all kinda turned out to be losers anyway. Maria's stiff, British persona slipped away further and further. To explain why she and I travelled together, we took to telling that I was her niece, and she my aunt. I was pretty much how we felt, anyway. Like family. I was staying in the same hotel rooms as Maria most of the time. Oh, Maria would tell me that when we arrived there and there, I'd have to get my own room, but the first thing I always do when I get in town anywhere is patrolling it for possible demonic hotspots, and when I got back late at night or early in the morning, I was tired, and just flopped down onto Maria's couch--or if she'd anticipated what I'd do, on the room's second bed. 

It was quite an exciting time for me, I remember. In all my life, I'd never been further away from Boston than the surrounding countryside, and now we were going everywhere in the US, from East Coast to West Coast to the prairie in between, living one adventure after another. Don't get me wrong, slaying is never anything else than a tough job, but it made--and still does--me feel alive. 

For a time, nothing much spectacular happened--except if you want to count stories like the one where I wrestled the alligator. That was actually one of my tougher fights, but it was a straightforward one: I went in, wrestled the alligator, and staked its owner, the vamp. Or there's the story of that night when the summer was particularly stiflingly hot, and I was lying on my bed butt-naked when a bus was attacked by vampires right outside my window and I went outside to fend them of. God, did I feel embarrassed when Maria came to bail me out of jail. And she just couldn't stop laughing, no matter how hard she tried. 

Anyway, Xander seemed to find those tales amusing--not to mention arousing--enough when I told them the first time, but they're hardly important to the story of my life--which, after all, is what all this crap is about. 

What was most important--what I remember best from those months--were moments of seemingly perfect normalcy, hours that you would sooner expect in the life of a normal teenager than the fuckin' Chosen One. 

There's one afternoon in particular that I like to remember. I was sitting on my bed, waiting for my toenails to dry. I'm not even sure which part of the country we were in at the time, but it was still summer, and damn hot, too. 

Maria and I always travelled as lightly as possible--pack and unpack as often as we used to, and a lot of things you kept around because you never wanted to just throw them away suddenly starting seeming like so much dead weight. Anyways, this time I'd brought a stack of comics from the last place we'd been, and I was flipping through them for the second or third time. It were some issues of Bone, I think. Yeah, the ones with the baby Rat Creature in them. I'd nicked them from the store, and I was incredibly nervous that Maria would catch me with them, 'cause she knew I hadn't had any money to spare for a while. The Council had been going damn cheap on us for the last while. They'd probably had their stock plummet or something, I thought. Or maybe they'd run out of tea and they were just grouchy. 

I was laughing about something in the comic when Maria suddenly opened the door. I started, and nearly fell of the bed. 

"Sorry," Maria apologised, grinning. "Dinner's here." Then she noticed the comics and frowned. It wasn't the first time I'd stolen some, so she had reason to be suspicious. "Where did you get those?" Maria asked, suddenly sounding very British again. 

I got up from the bed casually and walked around it to get to the door. "Had them in my bag for a while," I lied. Then I looked at her questioningly. "What? It's not like I yanked'em or anything." 

She shook her head. "Nothing." Ah, well, that was Maria. She could spot a demon beneath any face, but other than that, she was pretty easily fooled. 

I felt guilty for two days. Not about the theft--I always figured the world owed me a few--but about lying to Maria. 

After that, we ate a few slices of pizza with triple anchovies, and then took the night off to go to a movie we both wanted to see. 

OK, so maybe it's not completely normal for a teenager to steal things, but at least it had little to do with being Chosen.   
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


	7. Chapter Six: Mordred

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**CHAPTER SIX: MORDRED**

  
  


The next nasty of any importance we ran into called himself Mordred. I say 'called himself', because according to Maria, he wasn't the original Mordred. 

This vamp was quite remarkable, actually. He killed with little care for feeding. He killed so much that he reached national news, including more than one front page. Doesn't sound all that special, but when you think of it, it's a goddamn miracle when anybody save the victims notices vamp activity in the first place. Maybe you saw the headlines: '_Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ Meets Reality', 'Bloodbath Takes Heat off Clinton' and more like those. 

The Watchers' Council wanted us to take out Mordred _so_ badly, that they forgot they're too old-fashioned for cell-phones when they called Maria. Incidentally, we were already at the airport to go catch this guy when they rang. I think it's the time zone shit. The Brits seem to get everything later than we do here. Sometimes years. 

In case you've been wondering; no, Maria didn't carry an entire Watcher's library in her bags. She had some friends from way back when back in the Old World, two twin sisters, who collected every volume that had at least a hundred years' layer of dust on them, and they were happy to assist whenever Maria called. They had spent all night faxing us copies of texts referring to Mordred, and Maria and I went over them on the plane to Dallas, and the connecting flight to Houston. There was a wide trail of corpses that led us in that direction. 

Anyway, there have been a whole series of killers calling themselves Mordred throughout history, dating back to the early Middle Ages. Apparently Mordred was some character from the king Arthur stories, and the others were named for them. The Watchers aren't sure what the connection that there is between all of them is, but they're convinced there _is_ one. Each Mordred is a vampire who has some extra abilities, like for instance greater strength and stamina than other vamps. 

Other similarities between them all were that they all kill randomly, almost, it had been suggested, as if they're trying to make a point, or prove something. Consequently, Mordreds always take one risk too many, and die pretty fast, which is all that has kept them out of the history books next to Hitler and Ghengis Khan. 

We had to whisper as we discussed tactics on the plane, because it would have been a bit hard to explain to our fellow passengers why we were talking about killing a person. Naturally, the plane was delayed, and we nearly missed our connecting flight. Fortunately, that flight was delayed, too, and we just caught it. We arrived in Houston about an hour after sunset. We quickly dumped our bags in a locker--except, of course, for our weapons of choice--and took a cab in the general direction of the mayhem. 

It wasn't a pleasant trip. Mordred was probably continuing his killing spree already, and the idea of Mordred's unknown special powers, despite my usual external confidence that I'd kick his ass, put us both on edge. We knew we were getting close when the cab passed some buildings with police lines around them. 

"Take a right turn here," Maria instructed the driver. 

The man stepped on the brake suddenly and turned around to glare at us angrily. "Look," he started, "if you two are some kind of sickos who want to see the killer at work, you can go on foot. I'm not getting any closer." 

"You ditch us here," I told him coldly, "and you can forget about your money." 

"Faith," Maria shushed me. "It's all right, sir." She handed the man some money. "Keep the change. Faith, come on." We'd barely got out of the car before the driver took off again, and we didn't waste any time standing around, either, as a scream, quickly followed by police sirens, suddenly shattered the nightly silence. "This way!" Maria called, but I was already running out ahead of her. 

The scream was cut off abruptly, and I knew there was one more life I wouldn't be able to save. I pushed my speed to the limit as I ran through the streets and checked my crossbow. Behind me, Maria was starting to breathe hard, but she managed to keep up with me. Up ahead, a voice shouted something unintelligible through a megaphone, a gunfire followed. This was something completely different from the usual Slayer behaviour of sneaking around in deserted graveyards. I could feel the adrenalin pumping into my bloodstream. Different just meant that the adventure would be more exciting. 

Around the next corner, I abruptly stumbled to a halt, and Maria crashed into my back. The street was lit bright as day by a convenience store which was burning like crazy, with enormous flames leaking out. In front of the store stood a tall man, dressed like a knight out of a story, with a chain mail coat and a long broadsword, which he held high into the air. It was an impressive sight, I'll admit that. just as impressive were the six police cars closing off the street on both sides, and the cops firing their guns at our buddy Mordred. 

"Holy shit," I commented. We were both flustered for a moment, but the next volley of shots brought us back down to Earth. 

Mordred laughed as the bullets hit him, and continued walking towards the police cars. Chains shot away from his coat where the bullets hit him, but Mordred showed no reaction. He must have felt the impacts, because he walked as if in an extraordinarily strong wind, but he showed no sign of pain. 

"This could be a problem," Maria commented. 

"Holy shit," I repeated. "Guess we found out what his special power is." Still, I reasoned, numb to pain he might be, but he was still a vampire. I ran a dozen feet closer and raised my crossbow. 

"Fools!" the vamp yelled at the cops. "You cannot stop me! I am Mordred! This bloodshed is for Mother!" 

"Next time," I whispered, "get her flowers." I may not be all that great a shot, but the one I took then was right on target. It would have hit Mordred straight in his heart, or what passed for one in his chest. That is, if he hadn't cut the bolt out of the air with his broadsword. 

Then he stared at me past the police, and spoke. "Finally ones comes who knows how to fight me, and it is no more than a girl." Now that _really_ pissed me off. 'No more than a girl?' I'd show that rat-faced bastard what girl power was all about. 

"Maria, I can't get close to him unless the doughnut-eaters stop shooting." I was pretty much trowing our strategies out of the window, but we hadn't counted on police intervention anyway. 

"Use your crossbow to make certain that he won't forget you, and the boy will follow you anywhere," my Watcher reasoned. 

"Ah, so I'm to use my charm." 

Mordred, meanwhile, had reached the police cars on our side of the street, and was swinging his sword down onto the hood. When it hit, flames spouted out, and I noted with pleasure that Mordred rushed aside before the engine exploded as fast as the cops did. I reloaded and shot another crossbow bolt at the vampire. This one was a bit off, but it would still have injured him--it'd better, at this short a range--but again, Mordred swatted the bolt aside with his broadsword. 

"How the fuck does he _do_ that?" I wondered idly. 

"Foolish girl!" Mordred bellowed, as if in response to my question. "I can sense your wood coming long before it hits me!" 

"So now you're a fuckin' Jedi knight? Great" Mordred turned aside, and swung around his sword to attack two cops who were lying at his feet, dazed by the explosion. 

I felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn't let this psychopath kill any more people. It had gone too far already, while I was just standing there. But I was still standing too far away to get between Mordred and his victims in time. 

"Hey, you coward!" I yelled at the vamp, furious. "Come here--unless you're afraid to take on someone who'll fight back!" 

Mordred glanced at me for a moment, and I grinned internally, thinking that I had him, and that all men were the same--for once, that wasn't a complaint. Then the vampire turned back to his victims and killed them with one chop of his sword each. I gasped in horror as the blood splattered around. 

Smiling visciously, Mordred raised one blood-soaked hand to his mouth and licked off some of the blood. "You'll all die soon enough," he spoke. "Just await your turn, little girl." 

I lost it, then, and stormed straight at him. 

That's when I had a close encounter of the sword kind. 

I stormed at Mordred with astake in one hand, and the crossbow still in the other. I was horribly fast, even if I do say so myself, and had he been any other vampire, I don't doubt that I would have had him. But Mordred sidestepped quickly and swung down his sword. Though I hadn't expected him to react so damn fast, I _had_ expected that he'd move, so I was ready. I turned in mid-step and dived after him. Mordred, again, responded to that, and redirected the swing of his long sword. It was now far too close to me to get out of the path of its swing in time. 

It was my crossbow that saved my life. Somehow I managed to bring it up between the broadsword and myself. The blade cut through the wood and metal of the crossbow like a hot fucking knife through fucking butter, but it got me the few precious moments I needed. 

I twisted aside wildly, and instead of literally cleaving me in two, the sword just cut deeply into my side. I screamed in pain before I could stop myself, and was only my impact on the windshield of another police car that shut me up. 

Shaking my head to clear it, I heard Maria scream my name and looked up. I thought that Mordred might have gone after her after dealing with me, but to my surprise I saw that not enough time had passed for Mordred to even turn around. With as much surprise as satisfaction, I noticed my stake sticking out of his left arm--though Mordred didn't even so much as wince. Maria hadn't screamed for help, naturally, but out of concern. 

She quickly aimed her own crossbow, letting it rest on her left arm while her right hand squeezed the trigger, like a gun. My Watcher had always been a way better shot than I was, and she showed that again. The bolt from her crossbow shot straight at Mordred's heart. Once again, he reacted with lightning speed, bringing up his sword, but the broadsword's enormous size and weight now worked against the vamp, because the injury my stake had caused slowed him down. Maybe he didn't feel the pain, but hit hard enough, his body wouldn't be able to function. That meant that he wouldn't be swinging that sword around anymore if I happened to cut off his hands, or do much of anything if I cut off his head. 'Cause I would still have to do something like that. Slow as he was, Mordred just managed to bump the bolt away from his heart. It stuck out from his chest like some awful Halloween costume. Mordred wheezed and nearly dropped his sword. 

He looked at Maria, and then at me--just in time to watch me roll off the police car and back onto my feet. "You are worthy adversaries," he spoke gravely. "For this, I will give you one more day to live. Enjoy it, while you can." Then he took off at high speed. The bastard was a terrible liar. There was no doubt in my mind--and there still isn't--that Maria and I had shattered his little fantasy world, where he was invincible, and he was scared shitless. So he went to lick his wounds, like any other dog. 

When he was gone, the adrenalin flushed out of my system like the Niagara Falls, and painful reality set in. I noticed how tightly my hand was pressing against my left side, and for a moment totally forgot why. When I let go and raised my hand to look at it. The hand was coated with enough blood to make any vamp's stomach growl. "Shit!" was all I managed to say before, out of the blue, darkness suddenly closed on me and I slumped to the ground. 

It's true what they say, that hearing comes back first, and sight last. I remember hearing people walk around, a faint voices talking some way off before I managed to open my eyes and take a look around. But before I could do that, and find out where I was, I was more concerned with the stinging pain in my side. I shifted where I lay, and hissed in renewed pain. Stitches. Unfortunately, I was familiar enough with the damned things to recognise the feeling when I pulled on them. 

Then I finally thought to open my eyes, and when I did, I saw that I was once again in a hospital. I groaned. "Shit, not again." Judging by the light shining through the window, it was rapidly approaching dawn--it was probably too late for vampires to be out safely already--and I had no intention to stick around and be forced to eat hospital food for breakfast. 

Maria was sitting in a chair beside my bed, and had laid her head on her arms on the side of my bed. I didn't really want to wake her, but I shook her anyway. I wanted to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. For me, doctors were usually as much trouble as they were help, because sooner or later they noticed how fast I heal, and they _always_ want to find out why. Just can't leave well enough alone, I guess. 

When I shook her, Maria started awake violently, nearly knocking over her chair, but when she saw that it was only me, she looked relieved. "Faith!" she said. "Glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?" 

"Not all that bad, I suppose," I replied. "I'll be healed enough to go Slay the un out of Mordred's undead." I winced as I sat up. "They've gone awfully cheap on the anaesthetic with me, though." 

Maria smiled apologetically. "That's my fault, I'm afraid. I wanted to make certain that you wouldn't sleep the day away, so I made up a story to make the doctors go easy on the anaesthetics." 

"Anything to get out of here, I suppose." Maria walked to the closet and brought me my clothes. To my regret, she hadn't even left my side to get some other clothes from our luggage at the airport, so there was still a tear in my shirt, and, worse, in my expensive leather jacket. They _were_ a heel of a lot cleaner, though, thank god. 

We simply walked out of the hospital through the front door, and no one tried to stop us. The place seemed very busy to me. Maria explained that Morded had left more injured than dead before we'd stopped him that night. I like to think that those people owed me their lives. 

I was eager to go out, searching the sewers or wherever else Mordred might be lurking, but Maria insisted on getting a hotel room and resting until nightfall. It was a good thing she did, too, because even if I didn't want to know about it, I hadn't recovered enough to go ten rounds with a fruit fly. 

I dropped down on the bed and decided to close my eyes for just a second. The next thing I know, Maria wakes me up coming in after she went to get our bags from the airport locker. I couldn't have been asleep for long, but I already felt much stronger. 

When I came walking out of the bedroom, Maria dumped the bags on the floor and started digging through them. I pretended to have been awake all along--I really hated being weak, so I always tried to pretend that moments like these never happened. It was only later that I realised that Maria must have known I'd fallen asleep before she even left. "Hi, M," I greeted her. 

"Hi Faith," Maria returned, still looking through the bags. "Roll up your sleeve." 

"What?" I asked, confused. 

"I said, roll up your sleeve. Left arm's probably best. Ah, _there_ it is," she added to herself. I shrugged and did what she asked. Likely it was some Watcher thing. Then I saw what Maria was taking out of the bag. 

"Waitaminute," I objected. I almost took an instinctive step backwards, before I remembered that I'd sat down. 

"We're going to give to give you a little blood transfusion," Maria told me in her British voice--one that brooked no opposition. She took a bloodbag from another, cooling bag. 

"Is that really necessary?" I wondered uncomfortably. Isn't that fucking stupid? I hate needles. I hunt vampires every night with stake that isn't half as sharp as any needle, and at _least_ once a week I end up with my hands full of splinters--but I still hate needles. It isn't even that I'm afraid of being pricked with one. I guess that maybe it's that I can't be sure of what I'm injected with. In centuries past, it's been a favourite of vamps to poison their Slayers, 'cause else they'd get their butts kicked so often. 

Ah, crap. I trusted Maria completely, so that couldn't be it, then, either. 

I complained for a while longer, naturally, but Maria wouldn't hear any of it--which I knew she wouldn't from the start, and kinda realised was for the best, too. As she said, my massive blood loss was why she'd let me be taken to the hospital in the first place, instead of letting me do my own healing. My body could re-knit itself with the best of them--Slayers are regular Wolverines, or close enough--but but it couldn't conjure up out of thin air what had been lost. 

So, needle. Crap. 

The remainder of that day was spent planning--and resting, and eating, a _lot_ of eating, for some reason--because it had become painfully clear that it would be best if I didn't enter into another direct confrontation with mortified Mordred. 

That was actually one of thefirst times that I fully appriciated a carefully planned strategy. I've never exactly been a fan of planning ahead too much. It's mostly that I don't have an ounce of patience in me, but there's the tiny little fact too that thinking ahead gives me too much to worry about. Being a Slayer and all, the only thing in my future that is anywhere near certain, is that I'll never have to worry about wrinkles and grey hair, because I won't live long enough to get them. And even if I _did_ survive the Slayer gig, what were my prospects in life? _High school drop-out who left home to fight evil seeks employment. Special skills: ass-kicking and killing._ I'm sure the job offers would come flowing in by the dozens. No, I started out seeing vampire slaying as a big adventure, and I was determined to keep doing so, because I didn't want to look beyond that. 

Oh, hell. Yes, I suppose I was afraid to look beyond that. 

Moving along, Maria and I came up with a pretty decent plan. It wasn't infallible, but as I pointed out--not for the first time--the only things that are sure in life are death and taxes. 

The tougher part was finding out where we could expect Mordred to show up that night. Once he started, he'd be pretty damn easy to find, but we were hoping to prevent any more of his displays of mayhem. So I finally got to ditch my faithful bloodbag and needle, and went scouting the neighbourhood where we had encountered Mordred the night before. 

Mordred had left an easy enough trail to follow through the entire state, and at dawn, he'd never shown up very far from where he'd called it a night at dusk, as long as there were still people breathing nearby. Since we were in one of the larger cities of the south-east, finding living people wasn't really an issue. Maria seemed convinced enough that we wouldn't have scared him off, either. I couldn't keep up with her reasoning in that department, but it was hardly the first time _that_ happened. Maria was a smart one; usually, she was right. 

I asked around a bit, and found out that only one place, a disco, would be open that night. Of the rest, the owners were probably seriously considering emigration by then. They were the clever ones. With Mordred's love for wholesale slaughter, it seemed like a safe bet that Mordred would turn up here. Even if he was expecting me to come after him again, he'd want to fight where the risk of collateral damage was highest. 

So, early that evening, I went to the disco. It wasn't as much fun as it sounds, though. Discos and clubs are always favourite places for vampires to get late night snacks, so whenever I was dancing or whatever, I always had to make sure I kept and eye on my spider-sense. But this was different. I _knew_ Mordred was coming, and because of that, I couldn't get him off my mind, not even when this really cute guy offered to buy me a drink. 

I accepted anyway, thinking that it would be a good thing if I managed not to be so tense until Mordred showed up. 

We sat down at the bar, and he ordered our drinks. "What's your name?" he asked me, eyeing me appreciatively. 

I smiled. "I'm Faith," I told him. "And you?" 

He took our drinks from the barkeep--who hadn't asked for either of our IDs, by the way--and handed me mine. "I'm Rob." 

I took a long swallow from my glass, and felt Rob's hand on my leg. I hadn't expected that yet for a few more minutes of senseless small talk, and maybe a dance. Looking at him again, I sighed. He was a bit of a creep, practically drooling over me, but cute enough that I regretted that I had to work that night. Perhaps I could find him again later, if the plan went well. 

Unfortunately, Rob wasn't as much of a brainless hormone as he seemed. "Are you waiting for someone?" he asked me. I had made certain to keep watching for Mordred's appearance--still I thought I'd been unobtrusive enough about it so Robbie-boy wouldn't notice. 

I smiled at him with all my charm--meaning: like a starved nymphomaniac. "Not a boyfriend or anything." 

"Good," he grinned. 

Then, all of a sudden, the doors slammed wide open, and the disco's bouncer came flying in, all the way across the dance floor. He was, as bouncers tend to be, a large man, and he caused quite a commotion when he crashed head-first into the wall opposite to the door. Or, it _would_ have been head-first. I he'd still had a head. 

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, jumping up, as Mordred's equally large form filled the doorway. His eyes searched the frozen crowd menacingly,and all to soon, they settled on me. 

"Slayer!" the vampire called pointing at me with his sword. The broadsword gleamed dangerously, almost blinding me as it reflected the blinking and flashing lights of the disco. Detachedly, I wondered how it could still be clean of blood after chopping off the bouncer's head. 

Then I took a half-step forward, raising my stake in a parody of Mordred's stance. "Slain," I replied. The atmospere in the disco was one of severe confusion, but--considering the extremely dead guy lying on one side--also of amazing calm. "Come for a rematch, have you?" I taunted Mordred. My side ached a little in remembered pain, reminding me not to get too over-confident. I ignored the warning, simply because that was how I was. Besides, the plan called for a little over-confidence. "C'mon," I beckoned too him, "this time, it's personal." 

To my surprise, Mordred shook his head, and rested the tip of his large sword on a table near him. "No rematch, little one. Not now." His tone made me feel distinctly uncomfortable. He was up to something. Of that much, I was certain. But what? "I've come to tell you that all the ritual killing I am doing is to attest my worthiness to Mother. You are an unwanted obstacle." 

"So what are you going to do about it?" I returned snidely, irritated because I had no clue what the vamp was up to. 

"This," Mordred said calmly. 

Have you ever wondered why vampires never use any weapons more advanced than the occasional crossbow? I know I have. More than once. There have been a dozen or so instances over my short carreer that I realised, in the middle of some violent squirmish, that if my opponent had a firearm, I would have been toast. Gone to meet my maker. An ex-Slayer. Once I thought that perhaps it was some kind of nostalgia, a way to remain in the good old days when a sharp sword was all a good fighter could wish for if he wanted a nice bloodbath. Then again, I had reasoned, few vampires were actually that old. The best conclusion I ever managed to draw was that the vamps' dislike of guns comes from some inner drive that sets the demonic and magical against the technical. (Why, then, they _do_ drive cars like ordinary people, I won't even hazard a guess.) I think it all comes down to instinct. 

Instinct, which, if given sufficient incentive, vampires can apparently shove aside. 

Like Mordred did when he pulled out his uzi. 

"Holy--" I started, but then reconsidered and wisely decided not to waste any time on curses. I jumped up and flipped back over the bar just as the uzi started rattling out bullets at I-can't-remember-how-many a second. Until then, the disco crowd had been frozen--maybe they'd recognised Mordred from TV, 'cause a news crew had caught a few seconds of footage of him the night before, before he'd cut them open--but when the gunfire erupted, everyone exploded into motion. Mostly, the people ran--in all directions, as long as it wasn't directly into the rain of bullets. A few, though--Rob, and two people who'd been sitting at the bar on my other side--just exploded. It was quite possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. The bullets just ripped through their bodies like... well, like something exremely disgusting. I vanished behind the bar almost instantly myself, but that half-second before that seemed to last a half-hour. 

With the ground on the other side of the bar came the return of normal speed. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!" I cursed. For a minute, there was nothing I could do but cover myself and wait for Mordred to stop firing. I caught a few splinters of glass and a lot a liquor from shattered bottles, but through some uncommon stroke of luck, I wasn't actually injured. 

Then the noise suddenly faltered, and before I could stop myself, I risked a glance at the room. The disco was now practically empty of people. It looked like most people had got out through the door behind Mordred, and he'd been too preoccuped with me to stop them. Glad I could be of _some_ assistance. There were still of few partygoers inside, hidden as well as they could, which wasn't very, but I couldn't help them if I was mashed Slayer. So I bolted for the back door. 

Mordred finally slammed in a new magazine of bullets. I barely cleared the doorway before his little metal buddies followed me. At this point, I only just recalled that I was _supposed_ to follow a plan, and for myself, I was now planning to get a lot more distance between us then the original plan called for. 

I ran through the back storage room and out onto the street without looking back. There was plenty of evidence that Mordred was still hot on my tail flying around my ears. 

According to the plan, I was supposed to lead Mordred through the streets, but not too much in a straight line, so he wouldn't notice I was moving with a purpose. Well, I certainly zigged and zagged whenever I got the chance. A dozen times I thought that the next bullet was going to hit me. It never happened. Mordred must have been a terrible shot--which, in hindsight, makes sense, considering how rarely vamps ever get to shoot. Besides, the uzi is hardly a precision weapon. 

Anyway, predictably enough, my luck lasted as long as I absolutely needed it, and no longer. Just when I entered the street with the abandoned warehouse Maria and I had found, a bullet hit me. It only grazed my leg, but that was enough to make the entire limb go numb. I stumbled, rolled and immediately was on my feet and moving on again, but my speed was now severely hampered by a limp. Mordred started gaining on me, and this time, I wasn't letting him so he'd follow me into the trap. 

As Mordred got closer, the general aim of his bullets got better. They ricocheted off the street all around my feet. The fear which had until then provided me with the adrenalin I needed to keep strong now threatened to overwhelm me. I felt as if a cold hand was closing around my heart. 

Suddenly certain I wouldn't make it to the right warehouse, I kicked in the door to a closer one and dived in. 

"There is no escape from the wrath of Mordred, girl!" the vampire called out to me. He was getting terribly cocky, now that he had the upper hand for a while, but I was too panicky to take advantage of it. As I'd hoped, Mordred followed me inside, but hesitated for a moment, wondering if I was prepared for him now. 

Inside, I braced myself, and then raced forward--not at Mordred, as he'd expected, but five or so feet to his right. Mordred looked almost comical as he was confused for a moment about whether he should use his firearm or his sword on me. With my arms--thankfully protected by a sturdy leather jacket wrapped around them--first, I dived at the window. The window frame was rotten more than a bit, and it was the frame as much as the window that gave way. 

It had seemed to me as if time had slowed, and sound had fallen away, while I stormed at the window. When I crashed onto the street with a loud _Thump!_, the world reverted back to normal. I could feel shards of glass, naturally, but the jacket did a good job of saving my arms. I just hoped that I could get Maria to buy me a new one. It's weird what the human mind can think of when it's supposed to focus on the situation at hand. Almost before I realised it, my Slayer reflexes had me back on my feet and running again. It occurred to me that I was running from my enemies a damn lot more than I wished--and this time, it was even part of the plan. 

The plan. The shock and pain of my close encounter of the glass window kind had done much to clear the panic from my thoughts, and I managed to focus again. My little detour had bought me enough time to reach the warehouse. Once at the door, I turned, and saw that Mordred was only halfway there from the other warehouse, and it looked like he was having trouble with the uzi. At the rate the vampire'd been blasting away, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd ran out of bullets. The bastard. 

Knowing full well that it would drive him nuts with rage, I paused long enough to give Mordred the finger. Then I went inside. 

"Maria!" I called. "I'm here!" 

"As if I hadn't noticed!" my Watcher yelled back from somewhere in the building. From below, it sounded. "I could here you half a dozen blocks away! Are you all right?" 

"I'll hold together! Everything's set?" 

"It is!" 

Meanwhile, I was working my way up onto the cabinet we'd moved next to the door. I nearly knocked over the bucket on top in the process, but I stabilised it, and picked up the box of large matches just in time for Mordred's dramatic entrance. The vampire's long broadsword cleaved through the door easily, and Mordred strided in, looking around for me--but, fortunately, not yet _up_. "Slayer!" he growled. "Come out and face me! I'm getting hungry!" 

"Here," I called, emptying the bucket over his head, "wash your hands before you eat." There wasn't that much holy water in the bucket, but Mordred still started when his flesh started burning away--even if he still didn't show any sign of pain. The rest of his trouble started when I added a few matches to light the gasoline. 

"You'll pay for this, Slayer!" the vampire cursed me. Pain or no, he had little choice but to try and put himself out, before some part of him burned too badly to be used. Those few moments were all I needed. I wedged myself between the cabinet and the wall, and, with all my Slayer strength, _pushed_. I grunted. The cabinet was fucking heavy--but then, it had to be; it would be no good if Mordred could move it aside and still get to the door. Finally, the cabinet fell over. 

Mordred, scarred but nearly cleared of flames looked at me and growled again. I resisted temptation and my first instincts, and ran away again. "Maria!" I called again. "Now's a good time!" She didn't call back, but it quickly became clear that she _had_ heard me. While the two of us had been trying to come up with a plan to beat Mordred that day, I had fantasized that it would have been great if we could just stuff a bomb up his ass. After urging me to watch my language, Maria had said that that wasn't even such a bad idea. We didn't have any bombs, but a few well-placed sparks were more than enough to light the gasoline drowning the dry warehouse and make it hard to tell the difference. 

Maybe his powers were overwhelmed, or maybe the spell the rendered him insensitive to pain gave out, whatever it was, or maybe he just panicked, but Mordred finally screamed. I wasn't all that far ahead of the fire myself. There were no windows in this ware house, and only one door--which was why we had picked this building, since we didn't want Mordred to escape after all the effort we'd gone through to trap him. Fortunately, it also had an access-hatch to the sewers. 

I dived through it headfirst, and I heard Maria slam the hatch shut. Then I plunged into the sewage. As soon as I could, I came up again, retching and coughing. "Fuck! That stuff is disgusting!" 

"You weren't supposed to drink it, you know," Maria told me, patting my back. 

"Very funny." 

"Come on," Maria said. She looked at the ceiling and helped me up. "The floor is probably going to cave in after it's burning for a while. Let's not take any chances now." 

We waded through the raw sewage until we were at a more than safe distance away from the burning warehouse. There, we sat down on a ledge, tired but victorious. "That was pretty awesome," I commented. 

My Watcher shook her head tiredly. "You never learn, do you?" Then, she grinned. "Though I have to admit--that was certainly invigorating." 

I smiled, too. I remember thinking that if we had been in an episode of the X-files, we would close off this episode with a scene in the sewer below the warehouse. The ceiling--or the floor of the warehouse--would have had caved in, as well as the floors above that. Eery moonlight would illuminate scorched bits of debris and reflect of the dirty water. Then, suddenly an arm would reach up out of the water. It would be badly burned, blackened and disfigured, but still alive--or undead, as the case may be. That's when the TV would fade to black. 

I had never ever been so glad I wasn't a character in a TV series.   
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


	8. Interlude

**FAITH THE VAMPIRE SLAYER:   
SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN**

By Niels van Eekelen   
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com   
www.TelltaleProductions.tk   
  


* * *

  


**INTERLUDE I**

  
  


All right, enough already! I wonder why I'm telling you all this. 

Anyways, I'm through. Yes, I know the story isn't finished yet--and it's the story of my life, and last time I checked, I wasn't dead yet, so it it doesn't exactly _have_ an ending yet. 

My throat is parched from all this talking. I need a drink. Unless I grow a brain and decide to quit altogether, I'll be back in a little while, to go on. I guess it wouldn't do to skip Kakistos. After all, he's the demon that killed Maria, and very nearly drove me insane. 

.   
.   
.   
to be continued

  
  


* * *

  


Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions. 

In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all. 

A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character. 


End file.
